Just Another Day
by Peonywinx
Summary: When an ordinary diner is targeted by a psychotic shooter, the team must cope with loss, grief, and sorrow when one of their own is killed.


**_A/N: Okay, I wrote this because it's been banging around in my head and wouldn't go away, and I wanted to do a one-shot for once. I want to make it clear that I really much prefer happy endings, but a good author's got to be versatile. Rest assured, though, I definitely hope this never happens on the show, and the majority of my fics will _not _end tragically._**

**Disclaimer: I don't own **_CSI:NY. _**I don't even live in the U.S. And since that's the case, I would be very appreciative if you would excuse any wrong addresses, as I have no idea how they are in America.**

* * *

**Just Another Day**

Stella Bonasera sat by the window of her favorite diner, holding her coffee cup and taking sips out of it from time to time. It was a beautiful day in New York City; the sun was shining, the birds were chirping, there wasn't a cloud in the sky, and it was her day off.

Stella smiled as she remembered it was Tuesday. Two more days until Mac came back from Chicago, where he was testifying against Drew Bedford. Knowing him, he was probably still working himself to exhaustion there, even though she had specifically warned him not to exert himself before he'd left. When he came back, she was going to make sure he went straight home, case or no case.

Her waitress came over and asked if she'd like anything more. Stella was just about to decline politely when a gunshot rang out, the bullet shattering the window and burying itself in the waitress.

"Everybody get down!" Stella shouted as she ducked and checked the waitress' pulse – none. The people in the diner obeyed at once, scared out of their wits.

Two more shots were fired before Stella had a chance to say anything else. Then they stopped. But Stella had no illusions. This diner was no longer safe.

"All right, I'm going to need some volunteers to help me with the wounded", she called as she fumbled in her bag for her cell phone. "The rest of you, get out as fast as you can. Damn it", she added as her search came up empty. She couldn't put her hand on her cell and there was no time to look for it now.

"Miss?" inquired someone. "What should we do?"

Stella looked up. A handful of people, all with frightened but determined expressions on their faces, had stayed behind to help while the majority had run out.

"Okay, uh, anybody got a phone that works?" asked Stella.

A woman with frizzled auburn hair raised her hand. "I do."

"Good, then call 911 and tell them there was a shooting at 99 West Street", ordered Stella. "And tell them to bring a few ambulances too, and a SWAT team to search the rooftops."

The woman nodded and dialed her phone while Stella turned to an injured man who was clutching his leg and groaning in pain.

"Sir, you need to remove your hand so I can see the extent of the damage", Stella coaxed.

"You a doctor, lady?" asked the man through gritted teeth as he moved his hand away.

"No, I'm a police officer", Stella replied, observing his wound. A large shard of glass from the window had embedded itself in his calf. Feeling the area quickly and gently, Stella told him, "Sir, I know it hurts, but I'm going to have to ask you not to pull it out. Wait for EMS to take care of it. Otherwise you're going to bleed to death. Somebody help him get out of here!" she said to the group of waiting people. Two young men immediately supported him on their shoulders and took him out.

Stella began working her way around the wounded. Some were already dead, but some were still alive, and these she gave a quick assessment of their injuries, told them what to do, and had someone help them out. Even so, she knew the more time she spent here, the more risky it became.

"Where are those darn cops?" she asked.

* * *

The man observed the street below him with a pair of binoculars. He didn't know why he'd picked this day to shoot that diner, but it felt good. He heard faint sirens and directed his binoculars at the noise. He saw five police cars making their way to the diner in a great hurry, but they were still some distance away. He looked back at the diner. Most of the customers had already vacated the place, but there were still a few people there. He decided he'd make the most of them with the extra time he had.

Lifting his rifle higher, he took aim, and fired once, twice, thrice more before leaping down to a lower roof and disappearing into the building beneath.

* * *

"Hey, Messer, we got a call", Don Flack said to his friend. "There was some sort of shoot-out down at the diner on West Street. I'm gonna go check it out. You coming?"

"Yeah", replied Danny Messer, grabbing his gear even as his partner, Lindsay Monroe, grabbed hers.

"I'll tag along", she said as she tucked her piece into her belt. "You might need me to see where the shooter was."

"What, with another slingshot gun*?" Danny teased.

"Ouch", he said as she poked him hard in the back for his jibe.

Flack grinned. "Come on, let's go."

When they reached the diner, the TV crews were already swarming the place, protesting loudly when the officers at the scene prevented them from getting across the yellow police tape.

"Reporters", Flack remarked as he crossed under the tape with Danny, Lindsay, and Hawkes, who had bumped into them on the way out and decided to come along.

A police officer came up to them and asked, "You on Detective Taylor's team?"

"Yeah", Danny replied.

"Where is he?"

"He's in Chicago", Flack answered. "He's testifying on a criminal trial. Is there a problem?"

The officer sighed. "I'm Officer McConaghlly. Come with me, please."

Flack, Danny, Lindsay, and Hawkes followed Officer McConaghlly, surprised and not a little worried.

McConaghlly led them to the section where the ambulances were parked and gestured to one of the gurneys off to the side. On it was a mop of frizzy brown curls.

"Oh my God, Stella!" cried Lindsay, rushing over to the gurney with Hawkes while Flack and Danny stared in shock.

"What happened?" Flack demanded.

"According to witnesses, she was in the diner when the shooting occurred", responded McConaghlly. "The shooter fired three rounds and then stopped. Detective Bonasera began herding everyone out and rounding up the wounded. That's when the perp shot three more times. The second one got her in the chest. She was pronounced DOA." McConaghlly stopped, his face saddened, while Stella's teammates took in the devastating news with tears.

Hawkes, from beside Stella, licked his lips, trying to clear his mind. DOA. Dead on arrival. That was the worst thing anyone could hear about someone they cared for. To know they hadn't been able to even survive to get to the hospital...

Lindsay was almost beside herself. Tears poured down her cheeks as she held Stella's hand, already so cold and pale. Danny and Flack slowly made their way over to see Stella for themselves, as if that was the only thing that could make them believe the terrible thing that had happened, while Officer McConaghlly quietly slipped away to leave them alone.

Stella's teammates crowded around her, wanting to believe that what they saw with their own eyes wasn't true – but unable to deny it. For the longest time, no one spoke; everyone was silently dealing with their own grief, oblivious to anything but Stella's pale face.

"We've gotta tell Mac", Hawkes said finally, his voice thick.

"Oh, God, how?" asked Lindsay. "Stella's the only family he had left. How do we tell him she can't be that anymore?" She broke down into fresh tears while Danny put an arm around her.

"He's gotta know", Flack said dully, half-heartedly flipping his phone out. Slowly, reluctantly, he dialed Mac's number and raised it to his ear.

It rang on and on, and finally went to voicemail. Flack disconnected the call. "He's not answering." He couldn't help feeling rather relieved. After all, no one wanted to have to tell Mac that Stella was gone.

"Well, try it again", Danny urged. Flack did, twice more, but Mac still didn't pick up. Finally, they gave up. They'd try again later, but none of them were really looking forward to that.

* * *

In Chicago, Mac Taylor's phone rang on incessantly on the coffee table, but he didn't hear it because of the violent thunderstorm that was raging outside the hotel. Mac himself was in the kitchen corner, preparing a hot cup of coffee. When he'd done that, and come back within earshot of his phone, it had stopped ringing, and he didn't think of looking for any missed calls. Instead, he made his way over to the TV, which was flipped on to the news channel.

Mac sat down just in time to hear the news reporter say, "There was shooting here today at New York City. Late this morning, six shots were fired at the New York Diner on 99 West Street..."

Mac sat up straight, instantly alert. A shooting in New York City? His city?

"Four people were killed, and several others were wounded by the bullets and broken glass", the reporter continued. "All four of the dead victims have been identified – Annie Fillman, a waitress at the diner, who was killed by a bullet wound in her stomach; businessman Clark Wallace, 43, who bled to death after a glass fragment pierced his carotid artery; Ted Willis, 31, who received a through-and-through in his side that ruptured his spleen and killed him almost instantly; and finally, CSI and first grade homicide detective Stella Bonasera, who died of a gunshot wound to the chest. Det. Bonasera was killed while trying to evacuate the building..."

Mac sat stock-still, frozen on the chair. His mug of coffee dropped from his numb, trembling hand and broke on the floor, spreading caffeinated dark brown liquid everywhere. But Mac didn't care. All he cared about was calling his team, to see if they knew of the terrible news, to see if they could offer some evidence to the contrary. Hoping against hope, Mac stood up and numbly made his way over to the coffee table and picked up his cell phone. There were three missed calls from Flack's number. Figures.

Mac redialed the same number, and waited.

* * *

Back in New York, Flack, Danny, Lindsay, and Hawkes, joined by medical examiner Sid Hammerback and lab technician Adam Ross, sat in the coffee room in the crime lab, barely listening as the TV reporter droned on and on about how shootings like this were proof of the declining moral standard of the world and how such people should be locked away in jail for the rest of their lives.

Lindsay sat with her back against the wall, hugging her knees. How could something like this happen to Stella – their Stella, who was so strong and determined, so full of life? As they'd wheeled Stella's body into a van that was heading for the morgue at the crime lab, Lindsay had seen her closed eyes that no longer sparkled with fire, and she'd wanted to scream in sorrow and frustration. She still felt like screaming.

Danny still had tears in his eyes, but they no longer spilled over onto his face. But the pain he was feeling had in no way dissipated; if anything, it had intensified. Now that the news was really starting to sink in, he wanted to cry all over again, but he couldn't. He had no more tears to shed.

Hawkes, after the first bout of crying, had not cried again. He had walled himself off from the others and he sat alone, thinking on all the happy times with Stella. He couldn't imagine the lab without her. And Mac – how would this affect him? They still hadn't told him about the shooting, but he might have seen the news by now. He hoped so. It would spare them having to tell him something so horrible.

Sid had found out about Stella at the door to the morgue, when he'd asked whose body it was. When the assistant had told him it was "Detective Stella Bonasera", his heart almost stopped. He'd shooed the man out and closed the door before removing the sheet to find the face that had been in his morgue many times before, smiling and asking for evidence and autopsy reports. It was then that Sid had decided to go up to the coffee room, because he suddenly couldn't stand the stench of death that pervaded the morgue.

Adam was sobbing quietly and freely, his eyes and nose red, his face so wet it glistened. He couldn't believe Stella was gone. She was gone, and they hadn't even had a chance to say goodbye. He'd always admired her from afar, but now she was gone – dead, cold, pale – gone. He couldn't seem to think of anything else except the fact that she was gone.

Flack was standing up, leaning against the wall, not hearing or caring about anything the news reporter said. He hadn't cried, but on the inside, he was in just as much agony as anyone else. The stupid reporter was stating the facts of Stella's death so calmly, as if it happened all the time. Death did occur at all times – but not with Stella. But it had, and now they all had to deal with the sudden hole that had been ripped in all their lives.

Then his phone rang, attracting the attention of everyone in the room. They all looked at him as he dug it out and saw the number.

"It's Mac", he said. They stiffened. Mac. Either he'd already heard, or they would have to tell him. Either way was bad.

Flack pressed the receive button and put the phone on speaker. "Hey Mac", he said. "You're on speaker."

"Don." Mac's voice was full of horror, grief, and worst of all, hope – hope that they would soon have to crush. "Don, talk to me. I saw the news. Tell me they got it wrong. Tell me it's not true."

Flack swallowed. "Sorry, Mac. It's – it's all true." His voice broke on the last word and the tears finally flowed.

Mac was silent for a long time before he finally asked, in a voice that seemed to have aged ten years, "Where is she?"

"In the morgue here", answered Sid softly.

"I'm catching the next plane to New York."

"Mac, what about Drew Bedford?" asked Adam. "You can't just leave a criminal trial."

"The trial's over. They just wanted me here a couple more days to oversee things, but it's all formalities. I'm coming back to New York for Stella."

* * *

A day later, Mac stood by the metal table in Sid's morgue, looking down on Stella's still form.

"I'll leave you alone", Sid said quietly as he exited the room.

Mac gazed down at the woman who had helped him through the aftermath of Claire's death, had been his rock, his partner, and his best friend. He'd been torn apart when he'd lost Claire, and only Stella had managed to help him through it – now she was gone too. A single tear dropped from his eye onto her shoulder.

Mac had once told Stella he wouldn't do this job without her, but he wouldn't keep that promise. He would go on, protecting the city and its inhabitants, because that's what she would want. She wouldn't want him to withdraw the way he had after Claire's death on account of her. She would want him to move on, and to let go – never forgetting, but releasing all the pain with time, until only the happy memories were left.

So he would continue, and the first thing he would do would be to catch the bastard who'd killed her and put him behind bars for the rest of his life. He and the rest of the team would go about it as they always did, except that it would be so, so much more than just a simple homicide case.

Mac bent down and gently kissed Stella's cold cheek for the last time, before straightening up and striding out of the room.

Yes, he would go on, as she would want. It had been just another shooting, on just another diner. But it had been so much more than just another day.

Too much more.

_Here lies Stella Bonasera, wonderful and loving colleague, partner, and friend. She will never be forgotten. Rest in peace, Stella._

* * *

_*Lindsay used an improvised slingshot gun to determine where the bullet fell in the seventh episode of Season 4: "Commuted Sentences"_


End file.
